


Hoping I don’t float away

by SerahSerah



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Adoribull Holiday Exchange, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Inquisition, Refugee!Dorian, bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:09:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5725795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerahSerah/pseuds/SerahSerah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a repost of my gift for little_abyss on occasion of the Adoribull Holiday Exchange. Merry Christmas and a happy new year!</p><p>The prompts I went with were:<br/>• Something inspired by my favourite song<br/>My favourite song is “The Bends” by Doomtree.<br/>• Anything to do with AUs, bookshops and music stores.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoping I don’t float away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



Dorian had known, like everybody knew, that the conclave was scheduled to begin the very day he arrived in Redcliffe. It had been on the news for months now, the uneasy truce, the tense negotiations, the faces of all the important people with long titles speaking on the evening talk shows. Going on and on about Kirkwall and mages and fear upon panic upon hysteria.

He had ignored most of it though, too preoccupied with his own little escape project to take much interest in politics anymore. And thus it was that he was almost completely surprised to arrive in a city on high alert. The police were everywhere, and they were conducting “random” searches that were about as predictable as the sun rising in the morning. Dorian had already been forced to abandon his staff on the train when it pulled into the station. At least he could use the ruckus it caused when it was found unattended to duck through the gathered people into the relative safety of the station hall.

It was a tiny station all in all, befitting such a small town, and woefully unsuited to the veritable throng of visitors that were now trying to push through it. Dorian went with the flow as best he could until at last he was pushed out into the freezing open air.

It was late Umbralis with Satinalia fast approaching, and the weather showed it. Thick fog pressed down low on the houses, threading through the streets with icy fingers, half obscuring the lights in the windows and the neon signs over shops. Dorian walked down the street slowly, trying to get his bearings. Walking without his staff felt strange and awkward, and the cold would not stop biting into his skin. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets instead, and with his right he fiddled with the key he had been given. It was a small and innocuous copper key, supposed to open a room in the peacock inn. The seediest place in town, Dorian was certain, but it had been chosen to be his safe-house. For now.  
If he managed to get there.

He heard the templar patrol before he could see them, and that might very well be what saved him. The sound they made was unmistakable. Lock-stepping steel on stone, coming from behind. Even for him, it was an effort not to quicken his steps, keep his head down while he looked for the nearest possible escape. He hadn’t been paying attention. That didn’t mean he was stupid.

Most houses he passed looked closed, and he could not try a door to find it locked, not without giving himself away. But just as the steps were catching up, just as Dorian was sure they must have seen him, he found himself walking past a wide storefront window, casting fog-muted but strangely colorful light onto the pavement. He did not look at it, but took two more quick steps to the door, yanked it open and ducked inside.

He found himself standing in a shop that seemed to be a mix out of a bookshop, a music store and a garish Satinalia decoration showcase.

There was no telling at first glance how big the shop really was. Shelves stood against the walls and in haphazard patterns around the room. They were not only stacked with books of all kinds, but also with records, CDs and tapes, all next to each other with no system Dorian could see.

There was a counter to the right of the door, just a low table with a very old computer on it. On the left side there was a row with lower shelves containing records and listening stations with even older headphones. Beyond that in the far corner was a sitting area with deep, overstuffed leather armchairs and low tables, which were also stacked with books.  
And absolutely everything was draped with every conceivable item of Satinalia decorations Dorian had ever seen or heard about.

The light in the shop was dim but very colorful, coming from the thousand little LEDs on the tree garlands. It made the shadows stand deep and stark between the shelves, and it also made Dorian feel a lot warmer suddenly. The light that came through the broad shop window was still foggy and dismal, but in here, Dorian found it strangely difficult to feel too dismal himself.

Dorian barely had the chance to register all of this, when a great booming voice came from between the shelves, almost making Dorian jump out of his skin.

“Well, hello and welcome!” The voice said, entirely too loud for the small space. Dorian turned with a start towards its owner.

Between the shelves stood the biggest Qunari Dorian had ever seen. Even among the tall shelves all around he managed to loom, standing at least eight feet tall, and so wide in the shoulders he nearly brushed both of the shelves he was standing between. His horns were like those of a bull, straight out to the side and then up at the ends.

Dorian had not known they could even have horns like that. Dorian had also not known that they could exude such a presence, such a deep sense of reality that it gave Dorian quite a jolt. Many things had seemed unreal to him now for a long time. This Qunari was more solid and present than Dorian himself.

He was wearing absolutely hideous, stripped baggy pants and a white tanktop that stretched valiantly to cover at least some of his massive upper body, and leaving very little indeed to the imagination. He also wore an eyepatch, which might have made him look even more dangerous if it hadn’t been adorned with golden and silver tinsel. All in all, Dorian really couldn’t decide if his appearance was menacing or ridiculous. Or just hot, for the sake of honesty and completeness.

The Qunari had appeared with a broad grin, but then he looked Dorian over from head to toe and his expression fell.

***

This time, Bull decided, it was not his fault.  
This time he had done nothing to encourage another stray to stumble over his doorstep in the nick of time. He could hear Dalish laughing at him in the back of his mind, but honestly? This one time, he was not responsible.

The pretty boy was obviously a mage and the shadows that were now marching past his storefront window and towards his door were obviously a templar patrol. For a short time, this would be simple.

“Get behind the shelves,” he growled and strode towards the entrance. The boy flinched at his tone, but seemed to have some sense left at least, because he obeyed quickly and without question.

No sooner had he disappeared into the deeper end of the shop the door opened, letting in a chill draft and two templars in full riot gear. Bull glared at them.

“Well then, welcome to the Bull’s bookshop,” he growled. “What can I possibly do for you?”

They stared at him and then traded glances.

“You had anyone come in here just now?” The older one asked, with some hesitation. They were both barely older than twenty five and Bull almost felt bad for them. Almost. He glared at them harder.

“No.” He said and crossed his arms.

They traded glances again.  
“Alright. If you see any suspicious activity, you know how to contact us. Have a good day, sir.” They both nodded at him and left.

Bull relaxed a little when they were gone. He didn’t dislike templars, not really. Usually, he thought they should probably be commended for doing a dangerous and thankless job. But when they failed, as they had, and all the world went to the void in a handbasket, they were the first to turn around and start acting like assholes towards any mage they happened to see. Bull couldn’t abide assholes.

Bull turned from the door and made his way back between the shelves. He found the young man leaning against one, trying very obviously to look unaffected. But Bull could see that his hands were shaking, ever so slightly. He could also see that he had trouble looking away from Bull’s chest, which Bull found rather endearing.

The man was young, though more in his manners than his actual appearance. He might have been in his late twenties actually, but the way his gaze wavered, and his brittle mask of fearlessness made him look almost boyish. His skin was a very pretty shade of brown, and his figure was lithe and well built. His mustache gave him something of a deliberately crafted rakish air, and his eyes glinted with intelligence.

No, Bull thought, he was not pretty. This one was downright beautiful. And he knew it. He also managed to tear his gaze away from Bull’s chest after a long second and looked him in the eye.

“Thank you for that,” he said. His voice was dark and smoky and Bull almost rolled his eyes at that. Of course his voice was beautiful too. He was just one of those people apparently.

“So,” Bull started bluntly. “You’re a mage?”

His eyes widened in surprise, but he set his jaw with some measure of reticence. “Yes.”

Bull grumbled. “Wrong answer. Again. Are you a mage?”

The young man just glared.

“Hm. Well, better answer, I guess. What’s your name?”

“Dorian,” he said more quietly, and then dropped his gaze from Bull’s face to the shelf beside him. Bull made a decision.

“Alright. I’m The Iron Bull and I’m making cocoa. Want some?”

Bull didn’t wait to see Dorian’s reaction, but led the way through the back door into his shop’s kitchenette. He put the milk on to boil and pointed to one of the rickety kitchen chairs for Dorian to sit. He sniffed at it a bit, but did sit down. Bull turned back to the pot and saw his shoulders sag out of the corner of his eye.

“This is worse than I thought it would be,” Dorian said, almost to himself. “I knew Fereldans would be paranoid around mages, I didn’t know we would be hounded on the streets.”

Bull shrugged. “I don’t know about hounded. They’ll try to watch you, sure. Trump up charges against you if they don’t like your face.” Bull frowned as he stirred the milk. “Apart from that, it’s business as usual they tell me.”

Dorian made a low grumbling sound behind Bull that sounded suspiciously like something uncharitable towards southerners. The milk started to boil and Bull poured in the cocoa powder and continued stirring.

“What are you doing in the “beastly south” then?” Bull asked after a moment of silence and Dorian sighed.

“I’m looking for someone. I traveled, as now befits my station, via the underground railroad. Believe me, the accommodations are not as advertised in the brochure.”

Bull chuckled at that. Beautiful and with a sense of humor. “They have a brochure?”

“Oh yes! Well, actually they sort of do. There are organizations for, shall we say, people who seek to leave Tevinter on the down-low. It’s shaping up to be quite the industry.”

Bull just nodded to himself as he took the pot off the hotplate and poured cocoa into two large mugs. He had figured that Dorian was a refugee, at least in some sense. A mage would not have much luck applying for asylum in the chantry, these days.  
He put one of the mugs in front of Dorian, who took it with both hands and sighed a little at the warmth. Bull then leaned against the counter to drink his own, and watched as Dorian closed his eyes as he sipped his.

This was a complication he really did not need. This was not part of the plan, and likely to get him into very hot water. Or very cold. Or electrified, as the case may be. And yet… The boy was alone, inexperienced and evidently in trouble.  
Bull knew he really didn’t have a good excuse for this.  
“Alright. Well, as plans go, lets hope yours is better than expected. Let’s hear it.”

***

Dorian frowned into his mug. The cocoa was good. Unexpectedly and rather spectacularly good, in fact. It was very hot but not scalding, sweet and tart and bitter in equal measure and it filled his belly with the kind of comfort he had missed for so long he didn’t even recognize it. Kindness. If he were in a maudling mood, he would tell the strange Qunari that his cocoa tasted like kindness. He could not even begin to guess what the Bull would want in return, and he was afraid to ask.

Easier, then, to stick to the relatively simple point of basic mistrust. “Oh the Iron Bull,” Dorian smiled, deliberately letting in a flirty note, “I really don’t think I should tell my plan to a stranger.” He winked.

Bull blinked at him, as if thrown by the act. Then he actually looked a little sad. “No, you probably shouldn’t. Thing is, you might not have a choice. Whatever you came here to do, it’s clear you don’t have the lay of the place. What the railroad told you? It’s likely old. They put you into the peacock?”

Dorian’s breath caught in his throat for a second.

“How can you possibly know that?” He exclaimed with some alarm. Bull spread out his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, calm down,” he said, “it’s just an educated guess.”

Almost against his will, Dorian felt himself relax again. The warmth of the cocoa was starting to seep into his bones, and the voice of the Bull was so calming. He could not explain why, but it was grounding and quieting in a rather wonderful way. He knew he should be more worried, more distrustful of some wild Qunari brute he had only just met, and yet. And yet here he was. Maybe it was just hard to mistrust someone who had such a beautiful shop and then ruined it with so many hideous decorations. Maybe the Bull’s voice had its own kind of magic.

And maybe it was because he had not slept in what felt like a week and all the struggles, all the fear and the heartache and the running was catching up with him now. He bowed his head over his mug.

“I can make quite a good guess in fact,” Bull continued, “because the peacock was raided two days ago, in the search for apostates. If the railroad thought it was a safe house, they’re mistaken now.”

***

The boy, Dorian, could not go much further that day. He was sitting slumped in his chair, already half asleep, or at least drifting away. Bull reached over and put his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey there, don’t fall asleep,” he said as gently as he could, but Dorian still jumped.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and then drew himself up again; Bull marveled to see how well he did that. His expression smoothed to neutral and the set of his shoulders no longer betrayed his small moment of weakness mere seconds ago. His voice was stilted and formal now, for the first time.

“I will trouble you no further. Please accept my sincere gratitude for all your help and hospitality.”

He started to get up from his chair and Bull slowly took his hand away again. A little shiver ran through the boy. Bull took a step back and did his best to ignore how his chest suddenly tightened at the sight.

“I really should get going now.”

Bull frowned. “Wait. No. We covered this. You have nowhere to go.”

Dorian just frowned back at him. “So it would seem. But I also have no intention of burdening you further. I have no means of repaying your kindness.”

Bull growled. He couldn’t help it, he was just suddenly angry. Dorian looked a little startled at the sound, but did not back down.

“No, I know,” he said. “I have myself to offer, I suppose. But I’ll have you know I’m not quite that desperate. Not yet.”

Bull swallowed another growl and had to close his eyes for a second to compose himself. Dorian had really thought… No.

“Dorian.” He said, deliberate and slow. “This is not how this is going to go. You don’t owe me anything, and you can never, ever owe me anything in that way. Do you understand that?” He opened his eyes to find Dorian staring at him with a complicated expression.

Wariness and fear, but also hope and a tiny smile, all tinted gray with exhaustion and the attempt at feigning complete nonchalance to what he had just almost attempted to do.

Bull sighed “I don’t know who taught you that you need to pay for everything. All I know is that I don’t want to be them, ok?”

Dorian blinked at him for a second and then huffed a strange little laugh to himself.

“But what conceivable reason could you have to possibly help me?”

Bull shrugged. “Hm, that’s a good question. Some say it’s a bad habit of mine. I don’t think that’s a reason you’d buy though. So let’s just say: Happy Satinalia!” He spread out his hands dramatically and gave his best gift-giving grin.

***

Dorian could not help but gape a little. What was he supposed to make of that?

This was such a strange offer, such a strange promise too, and Dorian knew he would accept. He was tired and desperate and alone, and he really had no choice. And if the Iron Bull would want to trick him, well. Would that really make his situation any worse?

Dorian was quite aware that it potentially could. He was also aware that he was making excuses. He understood nothing here, but still he wanted to trust the Iron Bull. Believe that he was what he said he was.

“Alright then,” he said, trying to make his voice as steady as he could. “What happens next?”

Bull smiled at him. Then he picked up his mug of cocoa again and drank the remains of it.

“I take you to meet my boys. Then we make a plan together. Find you an actual safe house and a plan of action for finding your friend. How does that sound?”

Dorian swallowed. “Who are the boys?”

Bull chuckled. “Ah, I’m not giving that surprise away. You’ll like them, everyone does!”

Dorian raised a skeptical eyebrow and Bull laughed even more. Then he put his mug down again and walked out of the kitchen, and Dorian followed.

***

The fog was still low and thick when The Iron Bull and Dorian Pavus stepped out onto the deserted street of Redcliffe. The fog rolled like disturbed water when the sound of deafening thunder rocked the little town and all the lands around it. The fog fled and dissipated in the rushing winds that followed the explosion.

Bull and Dorian stood side by side, their faces bathed in a sick green glow as they stared up in horror at the hole in the sky.


End file.
